Four hours late and a dollar short (National Poetry Writing Month)
Crap crap crap crap crap!
After all that big talk, I stumbled this close to the finish line. Wednesday just ran away from me, sorry, here's a haiku to hold you over while I get it together for Friday, which will likely be two poems to finish strong and stick the landing.
Mischief is reward
Never mind why I do it
Know I am the fire that burns
"Loki"
By Hannibal Tabu Yes, he's the Michael Rosenbaum of Siege, so what? Bye!
Playing (Music): "Feelin' Good" by Nina Simone
NOTE: Since this blog is automatically imported into my Facebook page, I apologize if you comment on it and I don't respond, as I am taking a sabbatical from social networking for 2010. So me not responding is not personal, I just won't see the comments ... until 2011. Maybe. Also including this disclaimer on blogs, but you're welcome to go to the blog itself and speak your mind, as I may look there ...Labels: comics, god, haiku, loki, marvel, napowrimo, norse, poetry, writing
Comics Haiku At The Last Minute (National Poetry Writing Month)
Ack! 11 minutes left in the day as I begin ... crap ... okay ... uh ...
Two dimensional
Characters of lines and shades
Battle never stops
"The Simplicity of Super Heroes"
By Hannibal Tabu Got reviews to do, taking the stepdaughter to work with me for Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day with a late night work thing for the second (third?) night this week. Argh.
Playing (Music): "Hello Good Morning" by Dirty Money feat. Puff Daddy (I'll never call him anything else) and T.I.
NOTE: Since this blog is automatically imported into my Facebook page, I apologize if you comment on it and I don't respond, as I am taking a sabbatical from social networking for 2010. So me not responding is not personal, I just won't see the comments ... until 2011. Maybe. Also including this disclaimer on blogs, but you're welcome to go to the blog itself and speak your mind, as I may look there ...Labels: comics, haiku, napowrimo, poetry, writing
Mail On Sundays (National Poetry Writing Month)
Had a great convo with my dawg Craig on Saturday, which led us to think about the people who live between the panels of Marvel Comics. He tried to push a Foggy Nelson poem idea on me, but this one stuck more in my consciousness.
Monday, bug-eyed men from under the earth
made me six minutes late
delivering Mrs. O'Leary's social security check.
Tuesday, that rascal Johnny swooped down and saved me
from a steely gray column of Doombots
blasting the Baxter Building's foundations.
Today might be quiet,
even though I can see weird vibrations
around the Gotham skyline from home.
Growing up in Glenville, Nebraska,
a flat spot off the 92
so tiny Google Maps can barely find it,
every day was like every other day.
Friday night you might catch a movie
if you could drive to Prairie Theatre in Ogallala
Maybe five hundred people lived in McPherson County
I was just another one
but I always wanted to do something special.
My dad got me a job at the post office
over in Arthur
which saw me putting down same seventeen flags
from graduation into my thirties.
Met Imogene when she ran out to the road
with some contest entry.
She won me, but always wanted that ceramic duck cookie jar.
That ol' sun crossed flat Nebraska plain time and again
Imogene and I just watched it,
holding hands on same porch I played on as a kid
My dad passed away and left me the place
while my kid brother Ted went to school at Columbia.
We were happy there,
holding hands and watching sunsets
until the cancer found her as wonderful as I did.
Not many world-class oncologists in McPherson County
so when Ted said we could stay with him
see some fancy New York doctor
I put in for a transfer that day,
surpising Imogene with that ceramic duck
in our new, cramped room.
My brother was probably too proud
to admit he needed help with his daughter Billie
but three months later we were both widowers,
little Billie was the lady of the house
and I started prowling the mail slots of Brooklyn.
Well, Ted died a few years later
and I needed some extra money to support a New York mortgage
so I took the Baxter Building route
and the rest is ... well, legend, if not history.
I've met despots
shaken hands with gods
seen worlds ending and heroes reborn.
I still eat cookies out of that duck, though.
It's a long way from Glenville, and yeah,
I don't know what to make of a lot of it
but I wouldn't have it any ... other ...
... hm. People flying around the penthouse.
Maybe I'll bring by the mail later on.
"My Name is Willie Lumpkin"
By Hannibal Tabu It needs a lot more sensory data, I'd like to brush against the family themselves more, but I was pleasantly surprised that I guessed a town to put him in -- Flats, Nebraska -- was surprisingly close to what Stan Lee originally intended. I can't tell if that's a testament to Stan's ability to convey what a person's about or my own intuitiveness. Fun to note, though. Maybe more on the present day and less background ... worth working on.
No progress on the Wham!-inspired long form idea. It may be a short story after all. Have to think about that in May, if so.
Playing (Music): "Typical" by Mute Math
NOTE: Since this blog is automatically imported into my Facebook page, I apologize if you comment on it and I don't respond, as I am taking a sabbatical from social networking for 2010. So me not responding is not personal, I just won't see the comments ... until 2011. Maybe. Also including this disclaimer on blogs, but you're welcome to go to the blog itself and speak your mind, as I may look there ...Labels: comics, lumpkin, marvel, poetry, writing
Goodbye (National Poetry Writing Month)
I liked my piece about T'chaka, but I really like the balance of subtleties I was able to layer into this. I can't wait for a chance to workshop some of this stuff ...
I'm a man without acceptance
ambiguity stamped into mitochondrial strands
No one suspects, but my IQ is stratospheric,
my greatest joy is the symmetry of a good equation.
To them, I'm a punchline walking through a wall
when the door's right next to it.
Did you know I love paintings?
The subtlety of brush strokes and texture.
Between yelling and breaking things,
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of beauty
hundreds of miles away.
I think theorems and hypotheses
but all that comes out is punching and smashing
frustrated hate flows where I'd prefer to know love.
Forever stymied by a brain humming Schubert melodies
and a mouth screaming dyslexic absurdities,
frustrated by a body that breaks
where my mind seeks the birth of tulip buds ...
I'm the superb man you didn't know,
"imperfect" copy always envious of "brother" who has it all.
Every day I feel sick
trapped inside this mass of miracles
using skies as my sidewalks
eyes that cast ice,
dragon's breath from my lips
"Gifts" that can no more benefit mankind
than they can embrace beauty.
My world is sharp where it should be round,
caresses from my lover
come from end of a baseball bat.
my words are mangled misimaginings of drunken toddlers
and without my prodigious power,
I'd be a ward of the state
eligible for assistance
differently abled ... but hopeful.
How can I quell the contradictions?
I can't escape prison of my chalky, brittle skin
none of my "friends" understand,
not the genius, not the clown, not the fascists from space
... and I had to say something, anything
to anyone
before the ray's affects wore off ...
... hello ... hello.
"Bizarro"
By Hannibal Tabu  Me am happy to be here
Maybe something easier tomorrow, it's gonna be a long day ...
Playing (Music): "Particle Man" by They Might Be Giants
NOTE: Since this blog is automatically imported into my Facebook page, I apologize if you comment on it and I don't respond, as I am taking a sabbatical from social networking for 2010. So me not responding is not personal, I just won't see the comments ... until 2011. Maybe. Also including this disclaimer on blogs, but you're welcome to go to the blog itself and speak your mind, as I may look there ...Labels: bizarro, comics, dc, napowrimo, poetry, superman, writing
Father Figure (National Poetry Writing Month)
I feel good about this early draft.
Last year, Ratpack Slim's Facebook-exclusive poem in the voice of Ben Grimm got me going. I have since written poems as Black Adam and Lex Luthor, and I have started one on Bizarro. I never did one in the voice of what most people consider a "hero" ... I'm not sure that's changed.
I you don't know about any of what's being discussed here, Wikipedia is here to help. Let's see how this goes ...
My son will bury me.
I've known since he was a baby.
Communion with the Panther God reveals much
if one is open to listen.
I knew the garishly-clad American was coming
before his orders were handed down.
Winds of war blew past my verdant native land
but never crossed inviolate borders.
Haile Selassie took notes,
but always chased our secretive glories.
Knowing the weight of my reputation
more than he'll remember my voice,
This one, this T'challa,
will know such solitude and frustration
unprotected by his prismatic mind.
He will be known for his imaginings.
Quinjets and construction technologies,
His thoughts the fuel of an economy.
Like me, he will marry an outlander,
Bringing home power and grace
not found in our lands.
Earth's mightiest heroes
shall call him friend and brother,
But none will know him.
As I kept the realm isolated physically,
His wall of wonder will keep Wakanda a mystery.
He won't have my voice to guide him.
When the smiling white trader appears,
I know he brings tears and funerals at his footsteps.
They all seek it,
Precious find under Black soil
birthright and protectorate.
My son will keep it safe
at whatever cost
no matter the love he loses along the way.
I can't tell him any of these things.
I won't live to host
his globally-observed wedding.
Struggles with identity and purpose
he must shoulder alone.
He will be a conundrum to history,
Brilliant but conflicted
adventurous but secretive
an African king in a Brooklyn classroom.
T'challa will have to learn the hard way
sometimes the old ways are best
technology doesn't have to abandon spirit.
The Panther God is always waiting for our return.
T'challa could never leave pawprints of his own
if he kept chasing my shadow, my path ...
It's better this way.
Please show Mister Klaw in, Zuri.
"T'Chaka"
By Hannibal Tabu
Bizarro will either be Wednesday or Thursday. No idea about tomorrow.
Playing (Music): "Window Seat" by Erykah BaduLabels: comics, marvel, napowrimo, poetry, wakanda, writing
People Everyday (plus a round up of what else is going on)
The Aeron chair reclines easily, the lumbar support just beneath the swing of my shoulder blades, and another workday moves by with glacial surety. Two bright rectangles beam light at my glasses-framed face, while a third dark rectangle waits for me to figure out what to do with it. Super Bowl memories drift in from neighboring "bull pens" where corporate-minded suits converse, vying with the tapping of computer keys and the incessant clicking of mice (digital, not rodents).
The sixth person I know tells me, " I know you are on a social media sabbatical, but Facebook is not the same without you." I chuckle, oddly noting that Twitter was harder to kick, given it ability to supply me with new data and new reference points. No, I'm right in believing that I need the time to cut external input for a while, give my own processes time to marinate and mix before unleashing the next salvos of content on an unsuspecting world. Oddly enough, I already know what my first tweet will be when I'm back on January 20, 2011 ... and I may tell somebody, if asked properly.
I have a bit of an addictive personality, so I've switched a fraction of the energy that used to go into incessantly checking my status updates to Google Reader, which is ironic given some of the ways I've been talking about the Mountain View company these days. Google has, however temporarily, given me tools to maintain some of my broadcast desires during my sabbatical -- I used to keep a lengthy text file full of links for my own reference on an SD card, but with the demise of my last smartphone that's been harder, and here's Google Reader to help me keep track of these weird links, and in public too. Who knew?
To be honest, given how twitchy Facebook Mobile was getting in making me log in twice to see my notifications, it's a little harder to miss than open-armed Twitter, which often held a less fleeting degree of discourse. Not to say I don't miss the good features of sharing on Facebook, but it's a more distant ache. Oddly enough, not even three weeks into the vacation from social networking, I barely feel the twinge, and I'm even able to walk away from my nicotine patch-esque applications of email and Google Reader for long stretches of time on the weekend. Who knows how uninformed -- and productive -- I'll be in a few months?
I can't wait to find out.
In other news, here's what I've been doing that you might have missed:
- My lengthy blog against cloud computing where I come down hard on Android phones, non-local productivity apps, distributed entertainment media and the idea of trusting somebody else to babysit your stuff.
- Every week I do comic book reviews for this site called Comic Book Resources, and I post commentary tracks almost every week after I've had a little more time to reflect, adding back stories and what have you.
- Finally published a long-forgotten blog giving my position on abortion.
- As noted, I'm sharing links with Google Reader so you can see where my mind is going. Hm, I gotta include that link on the front page of my website ...
C'est fini.
Playing (Music): "Dream Shatterer" by Big Pun, who died ten years ago yesterday
NOTE: Since this blog is automatically imported into my Facebook page, I apologize if you comment on it and I don't respond, as I am taking a sabbatical from social networking for 2010. So me not responding is not personal, I just won't see the comments ... until 2011. Maybe. Also including this disclaimer on blogs, but you're welcome to go to the blog itself and speak your mind, as I may look there ...Labels: blogging, comics, social_networking, work
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